Out Of My Head: Hallucination
by RuruQhuay
Summary: Desmond hallucinates about this unknown man who pursues the murderer of his family members and the love of his life, whom he let slip through his fingers due to his thirst for revenge.
1. Prologue - Boredom

«Out of my head | Hallucination»

_By: RuruQhuay_

_Merry X-mas, love :3_

**_Prologue - "Boredom"_**

"_Des, we'll be right back, gonna get some food!_" Rebecca whispered to Subject 17, as she and Lucy stepped out of the door. "_Oh, and make sure Shaun doesn't wake up, now that I finally got him in bed. He needs this rest._"

The annoying snooze coming from the double bed in the office showed just how much his colleague Hastings needed some hours of sleep. Heck, the light brown haired dude was in need for hibernation.

"_Sure thing, Becca…_", Desmond waved at the two ladies who hurried to _Burger King_, a few blocks away. Well, he indeed never thought that the day he'd get tired of junk food would arrive.

Desmond sat on Shaun's desk chair, rolling around in circles. He was _SO_ bored. He couldn't get in the _Animus_ and learn something new from Altaïr or Ezio since neither Rebecca nor Lucy was there to supervise; he couldn't train a bit his recently acquired skills or he'd wake Shaun up…

"_To hell with this._" He got up, now walking around the office. Just a few weeks ago, he'd be sitting at home playing some games until his fingers turned purple, or working in the bar, stopping random riots between _motards_ and drunk college boys, or even playing football with his bros. Of course that that life is far behind, now that he's an ASSASSIN.

He couldn't help but to laugh at the mental emphasis he gave to that word.

Assassins… Templars… Conspiracies… Leaps of Faith… Apples… Bird doctors… It all seemed so unreal, so hard to believe. It's nothing like what he was trained for in his childhood.

"_On the bright side, this would be an awesome plot for a videogame…_", he thought.

The sudden ache he felt on the back of his head hurt as if a hammer had hit him brutally. It caused him to stumble on his own feet, falling on the office's wooden floor.


	2. Chapter One – Splintered Petals

**_Chapter One – "Splintered Petals"_**

_W-What? Who is this? It's not Altaïr or Ezio, that's for sure…_, Desmond thought over what he was witnessing on his mind. Was he… hallucinating, again? Damn, maybe he had been in the _Animus_ for too long…

The not-so-fancy decoration of the room he was in reminded him of the late 30's, so that should be the time, more or less. A quick glance through the window made him confirm that theory: It was the Great Depression.

_Now, isn't that nice_, he ironically concluded. A touch of sepia and he could totally assemble the images he had seen on his endless History books of his school years.

Focusing in the room…

_Oh, fuck_. That guy was beaten up pretty bad…

"_Tsk! It seems like you hooded sons of bitches are not dead yet…_", the 'presumable' target spit on the floor, his saliva tainted red, mostly for the amount of lost teeth that were scattered around the expensive Turkish carpet.

"_You will never destroy the Assassins. You Templars just want power! People like that should die, Jacob Maxwell._"

My, my, this guy sure knew how to talk!

"_TEMPLARS KNOW WHAT IS REAL!_", Maxwell kept yelling, no matter the pain of his legs, both broken, or his other wounds, Des wouldn't even dare to guess, "… _Assassins know just how to end our lives, and then how to die themselves. Even if I die… A more powerful Templar will kill you! But I… Did enjoy killing your family, by the way… Ha… HAHA_", before his insane laughter could be heard, the other's hidden blade crossed Jacob's forehead, to come out on the opposite side, a bleeding hole on the back of his head.

"_Rot in hell. Bastard._"

Desmond could feel the hate, the scorn, the anger, towards the dead figure. Maxwell stole everything he had, everything he had known. He murdered his family coldly, and he couldn't forgive himself for just hiding inside a closet with his brother, watching the whole massacre, without doing a thing. Maybe he could have saved his mother, father, grandparents and aunt. Despite being just a 12 year old boy, he should have done something! Even if it was just to die along with them…

But now, Maxwell was dead. He made it up to his family, he thought. It was over now.

_Ouch, bro… That's sad…_, Desmond tried to comfort the guy, forgetting how that was impossible.

His recently polished Italian shoes echoed in the little room, as he rushed to the window, taking a Leap of Faith. His arms were perfectly positioned to the jump, 90º degrees to his torso, his eyes were closed, his chin up, and he floated like a feather a nearby eagle dropped during its flight, feeling as if he had left his own body.

_These bales of hay never get old, do they?_, Desmond realized, recalling that since his oldest ancestor, Altaïr, he'd always been falling into those. The guy cleaned out the straws that got glued to his suit - _And what a suit, by the way _-; infiltrating in the poor, complainant crowd, he vanished from sight.

"_Tony!_", a female voice erupted, echoing in his lousily decorated bedroom. It had nothing but a crappy creaky bed with cheap white sheets, a wooden desk with some papers on it and one-week-old food on the little table by the window. She seemed to ignore the fact that the Assassin was wearing nothing but his underwear, as if she was probably expecting something like that, "_Let's go, your brother wishes to speak to you._"

That didn't seem good, for the expression on his face. When his brownish-green eyes met the short haired girl, Desmond felt Tony's heartache. Yes… That was the girl. The one that caused his heavy, endless insomnias for weeks, the lady of his fantasies, the one who controlled his mind, the only one who, reckless and audaciously, owned his body…

And the only one he couldn't have. Not anymore.

"_Ahm, yeah… I bet I know what it is about._", Tony was obviously uninterested on his brother's speech. "_But I believe we have some unfinished business to take care of, first._"

"_Unfinished, you say? Well, the words you spoke the last time we met seemed pretty definitive._"

_Ouch._

"_If you recall correctly, you may want to rethink that, Ana._"

"_Yes, let us remember._", the girl crossed her arms on her chest, "_Let's see, you were too busy with your 'vengeance' to waste any time with me, correct?_"

"_I asked you for some time, that's not-_"

"_No, that's exactly what you said two years ago._", Ana turned his back on the Assassin, heading to the hallway of his residence. "_Now, for Christ's sake, get dressed, I'll drive you to your brother's._"

_… Mine_.

Her arm was grabbed, perhaps with more strength than necessary, and she was then trapped between his body and the flaking wall of his bedroom. Tony's leg slid between the woman's, his green eyes lost in hers, once more. Their foreheads touched, the tip of their noses rubbed, her pale hands held his face and pulled him to a passionate kiss, as savory and lustful as he remembered. Tony's arms held her tight, pulling their bodies even closer, never breaking the delicious kiss.

"_I love you_", she whispered, as Anthony's hand found its way into her black shirt, squeezing her breasts, roughly, but kindly.

"_As I do, my angel._", he replied between kisses on her neck, collarbones and shoulder, "_Please forgive me, babe, forgive me..._", he begged on her ear, his eyes closed, as he buried his head on her brown wavy hair.

"_TONY, are you even listening to me?! Let's go!_", Ana's angry voice made his vision blur, her body, mouth, eyes, acquiring the quality of a dream.

Then he opened his eyes to find the girl about to slap his face. Heavens curse his daydreaming…

"_S-Sorry… Let's go._"

_Damn, bro… She got you._, Desmond observed, feeling sort of disappointed.


End file.
